As the sparks fly
by Jantallian
Summary: Not everyone in Laramie is one hundred percent enthusiastic about Slim Sherman's new ranch hand, but their predictions are fulfilled in unexpected ways.
1. Chapter 1

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 **!**

 **AS THE SPARKS FLY**

Jantallian

 _The action takes place shortly after 'Stage Stop', but assumes that some characters, who appear later in other seasons, were there all along._

 **Part One – Smoke without Fire**

 **1**

"It'll lead to trouble!"

If Slim Sherman had a dollar for every time he was to hear that warning in the next month, he'd be able to pay off his debts and the relay station would be a sight more secure!

This time it was Freddie, gloomily polishing glasses behind the bar and periodically casting an experienced eye over the poker game going on at a table in one corner of the saloon. Slim deliberately restrained himself from turning and following Freddie's gaze. He was perfectly well aware that the saloon's regular poker school, made up of some of Laramie's older and more cynical inhabitants, had decided to give the newcomer in town a little try-out. He just hoped it didn't empty their pockets to the extent which would provoke some kind of rough-house.

To give him his due, Jess had not accepted the invitation to join the game without an interrogatory glance to Slim. Silently there had passed between them the understanding that Jess had promised to play straight. Slim felt he had no right to prevent his new employee from engaging in a little recreational gambling. The only problem was that Slim was pretty certain it was not recreational for Jess and he was perfectly capable of earning his living by the cards if he had to.

"Professional trouble!" Freddie continued morosely, echoing Slim's thought, as he snuck a sideways look at him.

Slim was resolutely keeping his attention on his glass of beer, with an intensity which the quality certainly did not merit. Nonetheless, he was aware of the flicker of activity reflected in the mirror behind the bar. Jess was sitting facing the bar and Slim could see the movement of his hands on the cards, lean, hard fingers, exercising a fluid, confident control, somehow at odds with their square, blunt tips, which argued a more practical type of skill. Slim saw those fingers rake in another heap of winnings. In some ways, he was glad he couldn't see the faces of the men who had thought they were on to an easy killing. All the same, he was concerned that sooner or later, if Jess kept on winning the way he was, things would turn – as Freddie had pointed out – to trouble or worse!

"You mark my words, that Harper boy's earned his livin' from gettin' into the middle of whatever trouble's shakin' its tail at him!" Freddie pronounced, with the air of one who has seen it all before. He probably had. He was probably already counting the cost of the ruckus which was likely to ensure from Jess's activities. Slim would have been, in Freddie's place, and in his mind, he didn't blame him.

His heart, though – that was another matter. In his heart, he hoped Jess was taking his fellow gamblers for every cent he could get! Slim had a strong sense of fair play and, to his mind, deliberately trying to clean out a younger man – and a stranger too – did not qualify. He wondered what he should do if it did come to a fight. He would not think of failing to back Jess up – the man worked for him and anyone who worked at the relay station had Slim's undivided support and loyalty. No – it was more a question of whether Jess would appreciate his help. Slim knew to his cost exactly how hard a punch that young man could pack and was under no illusions about the number of fights he'd been in – doubtless many more than Slim had hitched up stage teams! And he obviously won most of the time, since he was still alive and likely to kick the hell out of anyone who tried to rough him up. Slim grinned as he remembered Jess encouraging him to give Bud Carlin the pasting he deserved. They'd been of one mind then, but it was problematic how far he should risk interfering tonight.

He was suddenly aware that the reflection in the mirror had altered and the action had halted. Jess was pushing his hat back and staring, apparently in wide-eyed amazement, at the pile of money in front of him. It was at this point Slim learnt something useful about Jess Harper – he could feign innocence with complete ease and success. By the look on his face, you would have thought he'd never been in a poker game in his life before.

Sure enough, a naïve grin plastered itself across Jess's face as he scooped up the money. But he rifled and flicked the bills into a professional stack before thrusting them into his wallet and depositing the loose change in the pocket of his battered vest. Slim heard the low rumble of his voice, sounding ever so slightly apologetic, as he told his fellow players: "Guess that's enough for a newcomer like me tonight, boys. Better to quit while y're ahead, ain't that right?"

Jess pulled his hat back down to its usual position somewhere just above his eyebrows. His expression of gullible innocence did not change one iota. He pushed his chair neatly under the table, picked up his empty beer glass and strolled across to join Slim at the bar.

Slim was having problems keeping a straight face. Freddie was muttering into his glass cloth: "Maybe not tonight, but trouble sometime for sure!"

Jess leaned companionably next to Slim and shot him a sideways glance. His expression was relaxed but serious, although Slim was willing to bet he was struggling hard not to allow a grin to match the mischief sparkling in his eyes.

"Guess I can afford t' buy you a drink now?" Jess said thoughtfully. Slim had bought the first round. "Whiskey?"

"Yeah. Whiskey. After that little exhibition, I think I need a whiskey!" Slim told him.

Freddie silently placed two glasses in front of them. He poured the whiskey. Jess knocked back his in one. A second later, Slim did the same. Jess reached out and grasped the bottle. "Leave it!" he advised the bemused bar-tender, as he tossed a bill on to the counter. "And keep the change."

Freddie glared at him, but could not bring himself to refuse good money, since this was a considerable over-payment and might compensate somewhat for the damage he was expecting.

Jess looked sideways at Slim again and tilted the bottle suggestively. Slim thought for a moment. There was no sense in them getting drunk, since it was liable to lead - dare he say it - to trouble. On the other hand, it was good to savour the fruits of Jess's victory!

"Just one."

"Yeah. No sense in startin' tomorrow's work with a thick head." Jess poured them each another glass. He hefted the bottle in his hand for a moment, then a very slight grin twitched his lips. He strolled back over the poker table and deposited the bottle in the middle. "Seems I can't take my liquor either, so maybe you boys'd like t' finish this for me?"

This carefully insulting generosity caused a ripple round the table, which almost immediately stilled. Slim was standing close behind Jess. "Ready to ride?" he asked his employee.

"Yeah." Jess looked over his shoulder at him and added, "No sense in gettin' into trouble with y' boss!"

"Come on!" Slim led the way out of the saloon, still determinedly straight-faced. They got to the Livery Stable before they dared look at each other and give way to the chuckles that were shaking them both. They hadn't been looking for trouble and, thankfully, it seemed to have missed them, this time at least.

 **2**

"Jest lookin' for trouble!"

Mose glowered down from the driving seat of the stage and wagged an accusing finger at the relay station's new employee.

Jess just grinned and led the team away to the barn. He enjoyed standing right in the path of an incoming coach, challenging the skills of the driver to pull up as close to him as possible. It added some excitement to the generally routine activities of the relay station.

Slim sighed. He really didn't need the stage-crew taking against his latest ranch-hand. Jess was far too good with horses, a skill which had considerable value in the daily working of the relay station. Right now he was gentling the restless team who had just been unhitched, uttering a soothing subterranean rumble of calming nonsense as he led them out of the way so that Andy could bring in the first couple of replacements. The two of them worked well together, both having an affinity with the animals which was sometimes uncanny. Andy was laughing as he came, the result of a quick comment Jess had made as they passed. Slim hadn't seen him so relaxed and happy for a long time – and willing to work.

Jess stabled the weary, sweating team where water was waiting for them, leaving rubbing down and feeding them for the moment. He re-appeared with a bucket of axle grease and a brush, having spotted that both off-side wheels could do with attention. Slim noted this with approval as he escorted the passengers inside: Jess was observant and didn't wait to be told what to do, which was only to be expected when he had stated flatly that he liked being his own boss.

Slim, with Mose ambling beside him, had barely reached the porch when the sudden scream of a horse in pain split the air. Turning, he saw with horror the lead horse, which Andy had been hitching up, rearing wildly above his head. Almost in the same instant, Jess dived across the intervening space, threw Andy out of the way and leaped to catch the leader's bridle.

"Easy, now, easy, fella!" Jess was hauling the horse's head down with one hand, gentling the quivering neck and ears with the other. "Steady there, now, boy, easy..." It was the same rumbling growl which the horses had become accustomed to when Jess was caring for them. The horse snorted and shuddered, rubbing its head trustfully against Jess's shoulder.

Slim reached Andy and extended a hand to help him to his feet. "You ok?" He was mindful that Andy would not appreciate being treated like a kid, especially in front of Jess, not to mention the startled passengers.

"Yeah, thanks to Jess!" Andy's eyes were shining with hero-worship. Slim sighed inwardly; it was hard when your kid brother decided someone else was the good guy. But he also acknowledged that he was right: not only had serious injury to Andy been prevented, but also potential disaster if the frightened team took off without a driver. The fact that Slim would have done exactly the same himself did not affect his generous appreciation of Jess's lightning response.

Mose pounded past them and skidded to a halt beside Jess. The old driver knew and loved each individual team horse, relying as he did on their unstinting effort and reliability. "What's up?" he demanded. "Ain't never seen him actin' like this before."

"Somethin' must've set him off,' Jess agreed. He was examining the horse carefully, running his hands gently over the smooth hide until he found a tender patch close above the powerful shoulder. "See here."

Mose nodded. "Hornet sting, d'y think?"

"Looks like it," Jess agreed. "I'll get y' the reserve out, if y' can give me a minute? Pullin' in harness ain't gonna do this old boy any good right now."

Mose nodded in approval, appreciating the care of his precious team. "I can take an extra coffee on board."

"Do that!" Jess smiled. He looked over his shoulder and asked: "You ok to give me a hand, Andy?"

"Sure can, Jess!" Andy responded eagerly. Slim and Mose watched as the pair unhitched the injured horse and led it away. As they did so, they heard Jess saying, "Sorry for throwin' you around like that, partner. I'll try t' remember to ask first next time!"

Mose grinned as he and Slim made their way towards the house once more. "Guess y' made a lucky choice, didn't y', Slim? If there's gonna be trouble, y' can depend upon it, that young man ain't gonna let y' down!"

 **3**

"That young man is nothing but trouble, my dear, you may depend upon it!"

It was Sunday. Sunday morning on the church porch and no-one entering escaped Mrs Mulholland's fearsome scrutiny.

Slim cursed silently in a manner quite inappropriate to his currently blameless intention of participating in the morning service. He had had no idea Jonesy's insistence that they all attend the monthly visit of the circuit preacher would land him this kind of situation. It was all very well taking down opportunist gamblers and dicing with death to gain the respect of the stage teams, but there was not a lot you could do to combat the prejudices of a bunch of puritanical ladies. Or so he thought at the time.

"Loose living, you mark my words!" the leading lady of the Laramie congregation continued with satisfaction. She was the wife of the bank manager and consequently believed she knew everyone's business better than they did.

"Surely not?" Miss Price ventured hesitantly. "Mr Sherman is from a most respectable family. Surely he wouldn't -"

She was cut short as Mrs Mulholland bent towards her little group of cronies and hissed: "Involved with dissolute women! A married woman too, so I heard!"

Slim braced himself to face her down and felt Jonesy at his side equally bristling in defence against this gossip. Jess had been reluctant enough to come with them in the first place, not least because he had nothing to wear which remotely resembled 'Sunday best'. Andy had been instrumental in persuading him it didn't matter - what mattered was that he belonged to the Sherman relay station now and God wouldn't care what he looked like anyway. Jess had responded laughingly that he had no problem with God, but he didn't want to let the Sherman reputation down. Slim had blessed him for saying so, but now it appeared the ladies of the church wanted to imply he did exactly that. Slim was thankful Jess had taken the buckboard down to the Livery stables.

His thankfulness didn't last long. He and Jonesy made a pretty effective barrier between the ladies and the street. The first any of them knew about impending trouble was when Jess stepped round Slim to stand square in the face of this female opposition.

He removed his hat, giving the ladies a polite but curt bow before he turned to Slim. "Guess I'll head down to the barber's shop and see if I can take that bath I need."

Slim suppressed with difficulty an urge to strangle somebody - probably somebody female. Instead he said quietly, "It's Sunday, he's shut."

"That so?" Once again Jess gave the impression of total innocence. Then he looked Mrs Mulholland straight in the eye. "In that case, I'd better come in to the only other place where washing people clean is a main part of the business."

Mrs Mulholland drew herself up to her full and impressive height, gasped in a sharp breath which set all the chains on her ample bosom clanking and lifted the lorgnette she affected to her eyes. She looked Jess up and down for a full minute. He returned the look politely, impassively. If it was a game of 'chicken', Mrs Mulholland was the first to flinch. She turned away into the church with a snort, aiming a final shot over her shoulder as she did so: "Probably a Catholic to boot!"

Not all her accustomed entourage followed her immediately, however. It was then that Slim learnt something else about Jess Harper: he had a quite unexpected effect on most ladies of a certain age. Maybe they had not forgotten the allure of a mystery or maybe they felt he had been unjustly insulted or maybe they just thought he needed mothering? Probably the latter, Slim reflected, as they politely turned down three offers of Sunday dinner and even the use of someone's bath. Favouring one of them over the others was bound to lead to trouble and female trouble was a whole lot worse than an Indian raid!

They escaped thankfully into the church. It seemed an impossibly ironic coincidence that they were about to sing:

' _God is our refuge and our strength,_

 _our ever present aid,_

 _and, therefore, though the earth remove,_

 _we will not be afraid.'_

And to listen to a sermon which took for its text Psalm 32, verse 7: ' _Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble_.'

 **4**

 _That young man's bin makin' a friend o' trouble- or makin' trouble with his friends!_ Jonesy thought grimly as Andy bolted off the evening stage, which had brought him from school in Laramie, and disappeared into the barn like one seeking a hiding place.

"Been throwin' punches with Ted Jarvis's eldest boy," Frank, the driver, confided with a grin. He was a native of Laramie and had known Slim and Andy all his life. "Ain't nothin' much. Y'know – kids' stuff!"

 _Kids' stuff!_ Jonesy scowled. There was no escaping it - Andy was getting too big in mind and body for what the little school in Laramie had to offer. _Not mention too big for his boots sometimes_! Jonesy's scowl deepened as he considered Slim's probable reaction to Andy getting into a fight. Then he sighed: _Now there was Jess Harper's opinion to take into account as well and it seemed like easy money to bet that he wouldn't agree with Slim on the subject!_

Andy fled into the barn with one objective: to get to his refuge in the hayloft where he could have some privacy to wrestle with the storm of emotions surging through him. It was a considerable shock when he ran slap into a hard wall of solid muscle. Jess was on the way out to see if Frank wanted any of the team changed.

"Whoa, part'ner!" Jess's firm hands gripped Andy's shoulders, steadying and supporting him. There was a split-second when Andy might have shaken him off, such was the turmoil in his soul, but Jess just said perceptively: "You need some space?" He turned Andy towards the ladder up to the hay-loft and gave him a boost up the first few rungs. "Take y' time. I'll deal with the stage."

Andy scrambled up the ladder and flung himself into a corner of the hay-loft, panting and struggling against an urge to let tears of anger and frustration burst from him. He lay on his face in the sweet-scented hay and prayed that he would be able to bring himself to some sort of composure before he had to face his brother and account for his actions. He was not ashamed of what he had done, but he knew, as a Sherman, he was expected to handle trouble without resorting to a bout of fisticuffs.

Presently there was the soft sound of someone quietly climbing the ladder. Andy tensed, hunching into the hay in an instinctive desire to hide himself under it. He had a sense of movement, as if someone had folded down close to him. A hand touched his shoulder, gently but with a strong, firm warmth.

"If y' need more time, I'll go away," Jess told him softly.

Andy shook his head. The hand on his shoulder was reassuring. " 'S'ok." His voice hitched on a sob and Jess's fingers tightened their grip.

"Figured you might need a drop of water?"

Andy heard the slosh of liquid in a canteen and suddenly realised his throat was so tight that he would have croaked if he tried to speak. He rolled over and clutched at the proffered refreshment. He hitched himself up into sitting position and drank deeply, his face still screwed up in misery and his eyes half-shut.

The canteen was gently withdrawn and something soft and wet pushed into his hand. Jess murmured, "Wipe y' face. It'll help."

Andy made use of the damp cloth and found Jess was right. The cool water seemed to ease his anguish somewhat and certainly soothed the swollen lip and bruised cheekbone he had incurred. He was able to draw in a shuddering breath as he finally opened his eyes – or at any rate, the one eye which wasn't showing the effect of the fight.

Jess was sitting on a nearby hay-bale, dangling the canteen between his hands. He looked absolutely normal, as if getting into fights was an everyday occurrence of no particular importance. As if it was something that a man ought to take as part of his natural experience. There was no rebuke or retribution in his gaze, only an acceptance of what Andy had done and, it seemed, a willingness to allow his reasons for doing it. Presently, he said softly: "You learnt anythin' from this?"

"Yeah!" Andy realised with a shock that he had. "I guess I know hitting someone doesn't always change things."

"Makes y' feel a helluva lot better sometimes, though," Jess told him with a grin.

"At the time," Andy agreed, but, with growing insight, he added: "But only if you can live with your conscience about why you did it."

"As long as it is _your_ conscience," Jess agreed. "You have to decide. Not your brother or me or Jonesy or your teachers – or whoever! You need to know why you acted how you did and be as near one hundred percent sure that you did the right thing as you can." He looked closely at Andy and asked: "Y' wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah …" Andy heaved a sigh. "I think I did right, but – one hundred percent … I'm not sure!"

"Good!" Jess told him unexpectedly. "It's when people are so one hundred percent sure they're right and everyone else is wrong, that things really take a turn for the worst. A man has to judge if he did the best he could, accordin' to the circumstances and his principles. But if a man's thinkin' right, he won't ever be so all-fire stubborn certain that he _is_ absolutely right. Part of growin' up is learnin' how t' live with that."

"Slim won't think I'm right!" Andy gulped as he went straight to the heart of his feelings.

"Slim's not stupid," Jess told him firmly. "He'll understand why things worked out the way they did, if y' tell him how it was – just simple-like an' not tryin' to make a big issue out of it. You understand?"

Andy gulped again and nodded.

"You wanna try it on me, for practice?" Jess asked.

Andy was not sure. The provocation for the fight had hurtful implications for all three of them. Now, as if for the first time, Andy was looking at Jess. He saw not just the exciting and friendly stranger with whom he felt such a kindred spirit. He saw someone who suddenly did not seem to be so very much older than he was. Someone whose life had carried many incidents like the one Andy had just had to deal with. Someone who had had to make hard decisions and face them on his own. Andy realised, with a sudden rush of emotion, how lucky he was to have Slim's love and support and wisdom, however much it might irk him and restrict his freedom at times. He knew without a doubt that Slim would never let him down – and neither would Jess. He heaved a big sigh and let this knowledge help him come to terms with what had happened.

"Johnny Jarvis said you were a thieving, lying saddle-tramp, just waiting for the first chance to make trouble and cheat us all!" he said simply. "He said that Slim was a fool to take you on – and then …" – a sob choked in his throat – "Then he called Slim a bad name!"

"An' you hit him?" Jess sounded perfectly calm about this.

"Yeah. I ain't gonna let anyone say things like that about Slim or you!"

"An' then he hit you?"

"Yeah!"

"An' the next thing y' knew, you were in a fight?"

Andy nodded dumbly.

Jess considered for a moment, after which he grinned and asked: "D'y whip him?"

"Not sure," Andy admitted honestly. He sniffed and rubbed his sleeve across his face. Jess offered him the damp cloth again and Andy took it and blew his nose vigorously. They sat silently. After a while, Jess asked: "What's troublin' you still?"

Andy thought hard, his face screwing up with the effort. "Don't think I changed anything."

"By havin' the fight?" When Andy nodded, Jess continued, "What did y' wanna change?"

Andy stared at him. "What he said! What he said about you and Slim!"

"Does sayin' make it true?"

"Of course not! But he shouldn't have said it!"

"People say lots of stuff," Jess pointed out. "But sayin' opposite or even hittin' them, don't always change their opinion."

Andy stared at him. He was a good intuitive judge of people and he was pretty sure that Jess's usual response was to hit first and argue about principles a long way after. What was he getting at now?

"You ain't gonna find everyone's got a good opinion about me, Andy, an' there's been more 'n one time when what he said was precious near the truth," Jess told him softly. "Slim took a chance on me. He's big enough to carry what happens because o' that. But I'm sorry you got hurt."

Andy glared at him. "I'd do it again!" he said fiercely.

"Sure y' would, partn'er. But y' need to know that sometimes not bein' able to change things hurts more'n the fight."

"I will change what they think!" All Andy's passionate loyalty surged to the fore.

"Sure y' will. But the way y'll change it most is by bein' who you are – by bein' a Sherman an' actin' according." Jess paused, watching Andy's expression closely. "D'you believe what the Jarvis kid said?"

Andy shook his head angrily.

"Live what y' believe," Jess told him simply. "That's what Slim does."

Andy nodded slowly. There was quiet between them again.

In the shadow of the loft hatch, Slim found he was gripping the rungs of the ladder so hard that it hurt. Jonesy had sent him to find Andy, with a warning to go gently on the boy. Instead he leaned his head against the rough wood, a sudden fierce emotion shaking him. He was amazed and touched by what Jess had said, because he seemed to understand Slim's own feelings and to put them in a way Andy could accept. Totally unexpectedly, he had been a rock of wisdom and a refuge for Andy in his trouble.

 **5**

"Can I be a trouble to you, ma'am?"

Miss Eleanor Jackson looked up from her sewing. After a brief survey of the young man standing in her doorway, the old lady pushed her needle into the pincushion and prepared to give him her full attention. For one thing, he did not look like a young man who generally spent much thought on his clothes. His shirt had a triangular rent in one sleeve and it looked as if whatever had made it had also caught his skin and drawn blood. His pants had seen much hard wear and the only thing in their favour was that they certainly fitted extremely well. His boots were high quality but again had been hard-worn until they seemed to have grown on his feet and the black hat he had politely taken off was seriously in need of a good brush down. What he could possibly want with a dressmaker she could not imagine. But she was prepared to be entertained, even if he had got completely the wrong shop.

He held out the leather jacket which he had in one hand. "Managed to rip the sleeve seam open on a nail," he explained ruefully. "Jonesy said you had a machine might make a better fist of sewin' it up than he can?"

 _Ah! Jonesy. So this was Slim Sherman's new ranch-hand who was causing such a considerable amount of talk and speculation!_ Miss Eli adjusted her spectacles and took another good look. She could see why.

This young man handled himself with the cool confidence of one to whom danger is a familiar companion, even when he was trying to be self-effacing as he was now. He was lean and hard and yet there was a supple grace about the way he leaned against the door-post, waiting for her response. He was smiling down at her and she caught a mischievous twinkle in the bright blue eyes beneath a thatch of dark hair which looked as if it could do with a good cut. He was nothing like as handsome as the eligible Mr Sherman, who, Miss Eli knew full well, was the cause of more than one broken heart - after all, she was the dressmaker, adopted aunt and trusted confidant of half the girls in Laramie. All the same, this young man had the kind of untamed good-looks which were exceeding attractive.

 _Talk about putting a wild cat amongst the pigeons!_ Miss Eli said to herself. Out loud, she inquired: "And who might you be?"

"Jess Harper, ma'am. If you're Miss Johnson, I'm mighty pleased to make your acquaintance." The smile and the twinkle had broadened, as if he knew perfectly well what she had been thinking.

"I'm Miss Eli to the whole town, Mr Harper. Best you call me so, like everyone else."

"Thank you, ma'am, that'd be an honour. I'm Jess to my friends, if y'll count me as one?"

Miss Eli inclined her head and held out her hand for the jacket. He took a couple of steps further into the shop, giving the impression that something wild, and fortunately merely feeling curious, had just prowled in. The jacket was also good quality and as well-worn as all his other gear. She could see why he would want it mended if possible.

After a moment or two's consideration, she told him: "I can do this - but on one condition."

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, but he just tilted his head, prepared to listen. Miss Eli stood up. "Come with me!" She hobbled her way slowly into the little kitchen at the back of the shop.

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Eli." He followed her dutifully.

"Take your shirt off!" she ordered.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was certainly not this and, as she saw with amusement, a flicker of shock passed across his face. Then he grinned, raising a hand to the tear in his shirt.

"Yes indeed," Miss Eli smiled back. "You can get a nasty infection from a rusty nail. I'm surprised Jonesy didn't doctor you himself."

"Ain't nothin', ma'am. I didn't let Jonesy see. Besides, Slim Sherman only has clean nails!"

She suppressed a giggle at this. "It's Miss Eli, Jess - and no sewing without iodine!'

Jess Harper knew when he had met his match. He stifled a groan and pulled his shirt obediently over his head. Miss Eli made quick work of cleaning and treating the ragged tear in the corded muscle of his upper arm. As he was getting back into his shirt, she said briskly: "The jacket repair will take a couple of hours. You got things to do in town, Jess?"

"Yeah. Gotta pick up supplies from the store and check out the mail for Slim."

"Guess you could probably use a cool beer too!" She patted him on the shoulder and gave him an encouraging push in the direction of the door. "See you later."

"Yes, Miss Eli!" There was a flash of a smile and he was gone in the twinkle of his own eyes. Miss Eli sighed nostalgically and went over to her sewing machine.

Jess strolled along the main street of Laramie, which was, to all intents and purposes, almost its only street. He walked with the air of a man who has no particular objective and all the time on the world. In fact, he was taking careful note of the layout of the main buildings, the alleys, the principle businesses and where folks left their wagons, mentally assessing likely places for ambush and the location of the best cover. Jess walked down the street and no-one watching the light-footed gunman's stalk should have been in any doubt that trying to interfere with him would be a seriously bad idea. Fortunately no-one did, although interested stares from a number of local inhabitants followed his progress. Looking out of his office window, Sheriff Mort Cory's casual glance became an intent perusal as he gauged the possibilities in the district's latest resident.

In a few minutes Jess arrived without incident at the General Store. Ezra Watkins looked up sharply as the lean shadow crossed his threshold. His instinct was to reach for the gun he kept under the counter, but, taking a second look at the way this man wore his own, he decided it would be a very stupid mistake indeed. He held his breath and waited.

"Mr. Watkins?"

"That's me."

"Pleased to meet y'." The young man held out his – empty of a gun – hand and after a second's shocked pause, Mr Watkins took it. Maybe this wasn't a hold-up after all?

"Slim Sherman sent me t' get some supplies on his account. The name's Harper, Jess Harper." The young man held out a piece of paper.

Taking it, Mr Watkins saw a list in familiar hand-writing. "Very well, Mr. Harper. I'll take this as Slim's authority. Give me twenty minutes to get what you need together, then you can bring the wagon round."

"Take y' time," he was told. "Gotta couple of hours to fill. How about you send over to the saloon an' let me know when y' ready?"

"Very well," Watkins said again, thawing somewhat. "Thanks. Been busy today."

The young man turned to go and, as he did so, struck his foot hard against a largish, heavy crate just inside the door. "Damn! What the hell's in there?"

"One of those new-fangle sewing machines with a foot-treadle," the store-keeper replied. "Would you believe, Mrs Dorren ordered it and then they upped and went to Canada? And left me with something I'm going to find hard to get rid of!" The store-keeper's face said it all.

"Yeah!" There was a thoughtful tone in the young man's voice, but he went on out of the stores without further comment.

Miss Eli was almost finished when Jess reappeared some two hours later. She'd found the ripped seam much more difficult than she had anticipated, but was determined not to let her new customer down. The old machine was making hard work of the leather, which was scarcely surprising when the thickest material it normally had to deal with was heavy cotton. In two strides, Jess was at her side and removing her hand from the hand-wheel.

"You should've let me turn it!" he reprimanded her. "Didn't realise it was goin' to give you so much trouble."

Miss Eli smiled as together they completed the sewing in record time. "You did ask me if you could cause trouble," she teased.

"Not that much," Jess smiled. "Y' need a rest." He tossed his jacket on to the table. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and presently came back with two cups of coffee.

"Make yourself at home!" Miss Eli told him in mock reproof, but she made no objection when he pulled up the arm-chair she kept for her customers and indicated it with a jerk of his head.

"Sit!" He handed her the coffee. "You ever stop to eat?"

"The old don't need as much to eat as the young," she responded, "but I'm willing to bet you have a very healthy appetite!"

"Eat you out of house and home," Jess grinned, "or so Jonesy says. He keeps complainin' that I ought to take my wages in food or I'll be too expensive to keep."

"I'll believe that," Miss Eli agreed. "Jonesy's a stingy old buzzard, but young men work hard and play hard and eat to fuel it. I don't doubt Slim's getting his money's worth out of you."

Jess ducked his head, almost as if he was shy. "I do my best. He's a good boss."

"He's a thoroughly good young man."

"Yeah. Didn't take me long to realise that."

"But he needs to loosen up some, play more. Think you can do something about it?"

"Sure can try, ma'am!" Jess grinned as he finished his coffee and took both cups back to the kitchen, where she heard him wash them up. When he returned, he said: "Thanks for the mendin'. How much do I owe you?"

Miss Eli was tempted to say he had already paid with his company, but she was shrewd enough to know that this was a man who always paid his debts. When the bill had been settled, Jess took her hand in his. "Thanks, Miss Eli. I'll try not to bring y' too much trouble, but if the machine needs some heavy turnin', you just let me know!" He picked up his jacket and headed for the door.

"I'll be sure to do that, Jess. But all it usually has to handle is muslin and lace."

"Not with me around!" he quipped with a cheeky grin. Then he was gone.

It was another couple of hours before Mr Watkins and his assistant appeared in her doorway, manoeuvring a big crate on a trolley. When they had unpacked and set up the new-fangled machine, the store-keeper handed her a sheet of paper. It took her some time to decipher the execrable handwriting, but when she did, it read: _Please accept this, Miss Eli – you'll be doing Mr Watkins a favour and I guess whatever I do in Laramie, it'll lead to more mending trouble for you. Jess Harper_.

 **6**

"This is going to lead to trouble!" Mort Cory laid the Wanted poster on the table, a worried frown creasing his normally calm face.

An equally worried frown added more wrinkles to Jonesy's weathered countenance as he stood absently wiping his hands on the apron he had just taken off and staring in consternation at the poster. It was Jess all right: ' _Five foot eleven, 175lbs, dark hair, blue eyes'_ \- and anyway the picture was perfectly clear _. 'Wanted for armed robbery'_. At least it didn't say ' _murder'_.

"Slim know about this?" Mort asked when Jonesy made no reaction to the evidence.

Jonesy shook his head. "I dunno," he replied honestly. He had been watching with loyal concern the developing relationship between the younger men, but, of course, much of the time the two of them were out working the range and he had no idea what they talked about. He didn't think it was likely, though. They were all still feeling their way with Jess and he was not given to personal revelations, even though he was willing enough to spin a yarn or two for Andy in the evening.

"Jess plays his cards close to his chest," he admitted.

"Yeah, so I heard," Mort agreed with a grin. "You know he pretty well cleaned out Walker's poker school the other night?"

"Yeah, Slim said," Jonesy admitted before adding somewhat defiantly: "Said he stopped short of provokin' a fight too!"

"Just as well!" Mort said grimly. "Those idiots in the saloon should look at the way he wears his gun before deciding to take him on."

Jonesy nodded worriedly. None of them had seen Jess in a gunfight except Slim and he'd just been too grateful for the back-up to analyse the technique. But the well-worn gun-belt and slick gun only added to the impression Jess could be very dangerous - and so might anyone coming after him for that reward! Then there was the fact that he'd arrived at the relay station breathing vengeance on a man who'd betrayed him ... Jonesy wondered why Jess had given up the quest when he agreed to stay and how much Slim knew about the whole incident.

His worrying was interrupted by a cheerful young voice as Andy stuck his head round the front door. "Hey, Jonesy, I've finished doing the outside chores. Can I go -?"

"No y' can't!" Jonesy told him before he could get out a request to ride after Slim and Jess. "Y' know full well Slim said for y' to get on with y' schoolin'!"

"Aw, Jonesy!"

Jonesy was conscious of Mort quietly folding the incriminating poster and returning it to his pocket.

"Don't y' come that tone with me, young man!" The worry made Jonesy's voice harsher than normal.

"If I am a young man, I ought to be doing a man's work!" Andy protested crossly.

Mort and Jonesy exchanged sympathetic glances and Mort said: "You won't find them easily this long into the day, Andy."

"Will!" Andy snapped. "Jess's been teaching me to track - and he's the best!" Seeing the sheriff's sceptical expression, he went on fiercely defending his hero: "He is! He learnt from a tribe when he was a kid! And he was a scout for the army."

"And in the army he'll have learnt to follow orders," Mort pointed out sternly, although he rather thought that borderline insubordination looked more Jess's style. "So should you."

"So git t' the desk an' do as y' big brother told y'!" Jonesy added.

"I'm sick of him telling me!" Andy muttered rebelliously.

"Yeah? Well you'll find even Jess Harper takes y' brother's orders!" Jonesy told him sternly.

"Only 'cause he's paid to," Andy observed astutely, "and Slim doesn't pay me!"

"Git!" Jonesy could see argument was going to get him nowhere and was mightily relieved when Andy finally stamped over to Slim's desk and got out his books. "An' maybe it'd be an improvement if y' encouraged your pal t' get some book learnin' into that head of his too?"

As an attempt to convince Andy of the value of schooling this was a total failure. He just gave Jonesy a look of complete contempt and said coldly: "Jess knows how to stay alive without anyone playing nursemaid to him and that's worth more than any book learning."

Jonesy and Mort exchange another harassed glance. There was more than one kind of trouble in the offing! Mort picked up his hat from the table and made for the door. Jonesy would just have to cope! As the old cook followed him onto the porch he asked: "Where are they working today?"

Jonesy grinned sourly and said, "You mean y' Indian trackin' skills ain't up t' findin' them?"

Mort laughed. "If he's really that good, he'll be a useful man to have in a posse - always supposing the one following this doesn't catch up with him!" He patted his shirt pocket meaningfully.

Jonesy shook his head. He hadn't been around Jess that long but something didn't ring true. "Can't see him robbin' anyone deliberate-like," he told Mort thoughtfully.

"No?"

"No. Hell, he didn't even keep them poker winnings. Gave half of it t' some other drifter, down on his luck, bought Miz Elli a new sewing machine 'cause the old one made such hard work o' mendin' a tear in his jacket and handed over the rest to Slim t' go towards buyin' Andy a good surprise present for his birthday. Oh, an' I think he bought a shirt an' some new socks!"

The comment about Andy's birthday brought a real smile to Mort's face. "So where do I find these two secret benefactors?" he asked again.

Jonesy told him.

Mort rode along slowly and quietly, as befitted both his mood and the noon heat. It would be as well to come up with the two of them taking their mid-day rest, when things were likely be more relaxed. He did not expect Jess to react well to the poster and if that young man hadn't got a hair- trigger temper to match his gun, Mort was no judge of men. Better to catch him in a reasonably good mood to start with.

This plan was doomed to failure.

He arrived eventually at the section of fencing on the southern border of the ranch which was being renewed. He knew Slim would be very glad to have another pair of hands to work with him on this tedious and laborious task; Andy was not strong enough yet and Slim tried conscientiously to avoid over-burdening him with ranch work. But Mort wondered how a Texan would feel about fencing the range.

The strong midday sun was mercifully hidden momentarily by the clouds as Mort found the shady place on the banks of a small stream where they had left their horses. It was a secluded spot, a long way from any trails or the likelihood of chance encounters which might prove unpleasant. Both horses had been unsaddled and Alamo was lightly hitched to one of the branches. Jess's bay was minus his bridle as well and was drinking at a small pool in the stream as Mort rode up. The horse lifted its head and seemed to be giving the newcomers the same sort of assessment that his owner might have. But Alamo knew Mort and his mount and gave a soft whicker of recognition. At this, the bay decided they were harmless and moved over to join the chestnut, standing head to tail with his companion to keep the flies off. Mort just hoped their riders, who were obviously still working on the steep bank above, were getting on as well. That hope lasted all of ten seconds.

At the top of the bank, Slim caught the end of the next piece of wire which Jess was stretching for him, grabbed his hammer and snapped rather irritably: "Pass me another couple of nails - and get a move on, will you!" The work had not gone smoothly and he had wanted to finish this section before noon.

"How the hell can I reach the nails an' pull this wire for y' at the same time?" Jess demanded equally irritably.

"You should've moved them first," Slim retorted.

"You want 'em, you move 'em!"

"I'm paying you to move them!"

"Oh yeah! I forgot that." Jess let go abruptly and the wire, evidently possessed by the same devil as Jess, whipped out of Slim's hand and sprang back into a tight coil. Jess stamped over to the previous fence-post, grabbed the tin of nails and dumped it at Slim's feet. "Your nails!"

"Thanks!" Slim mumbled, sucking the burn on his finger which the wire had made.

Jess glared down at him without apologizing for what was an avoidable accident. Instead he said rashly: "We could use Andy on these tricky sections. It'd save time and he'd feel he was doin' some real work around the place for once!"

Slim scowled up at him. "Andy's got his schooling to attend to. He's going to amount to more than just a ranch-hand!" The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he wished them back, realising how insulting they sounded.

Fortunately Jess was thinking about Andy, not himself, for he just continued: "He's gonna end up part owner of a ranch he ain't got the skills to run. Even if it mostly damn fencing!"

Slim leapt to his feet. "I'm running the ranch and I'll decide what's best for Andy! So you can quit swearing around him for one thing. Now let's finish what we started."

He was thinking of the fencing and Jess's response took him by surprise. His head and his fists went up and he snarled: "I'm willin' to pick up right where Carlin interrupted us!"

"You sure are asking for this!" Slim's frustration with the progress of the work and anxiety about the viability of the ranch and jealousy stirred by Andy's obvious admiration for Jess and irritation at Jess's opposition to his authority all came to the boil suddenly. The challenge in Jess's stance was the final straw and he swung a hard blow at his goading employee.

It was then he learned what a sneaky, unscrupulous fighter Jess Harper could be. Instead of parrying the blow or ducking, Jess grabbed his arm and pulled him off-balance, at the same time hooking a leg behind Slim's knee. Slim lunged out wildly, catching Jess in a grapple round the waist. The result was that they both fell into the brush below with a resounding crash and rolled rapidly streamwards.

At the bottom of the slope, Mort had tethered his horse and was sitting quietly in the shade, considering the outcome of this bickering. So Jess took Slim's orders? It certainly didn't sound like it!

Thrashing and heaving and trading wild blows, the combatants rolled down the slope with increasing speed. Inevitably, they ended up in the pool. Slim grabbed Jess by the hair and ducked him smartly. Jess retaliated by heaving Slim off and sending him flying backwards.

The water was only a couple of feet deep but the shock was sufficient to cool their tempers somewhat. Gasping and sputtering they both surfaced at the same time. Jess spat out a mouthful of water-weed and grinned at Slim. "Ain't no call t' wash my mouth out! I take y' point."

Slim sat up and pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes. "Thanks for missing my nose again!" he grinned back. He struggled to his feet, sloshed over to the bank and, when he was once more on dry land, extended his right hand to Jess.

Without hesitation, Jess took it and allowed himself to be pulled out of the water. Slim did not let go his hold. He looked Jess straight in the eyes and said quietly, "Andy's my brother. I love him and, while I'm responsible for him, it's my job to make the rules."

Jess looked right back and nodded in acknowledgement and said equally quietly: "Andy's my friend. While he needs someone to back-up his side of it, I'll speak my mind!"

Slim nodded his own acknowledgement and Mort saw, for a brief moment, the hand-clasp tighten between them. Then Slim slapped Jess on the back and Jess ducked his head in a disarming gesture of effacement.

"I'll get the guns." Without more ado, Jess scrambled back up the bank to where they had evidently deposited their weapons and their shirts while they were working. This was probably a good thing: firearms do not mix well with spontaneous swimming.

If Mort had hoped his observation of the dispute and its resolution had remained unnoticed, he was again to be disappointed. Slim watched Jess disappear up the bank before turning slowly and saying, "This is a long way to come in search of a picnic, Mort?"

Before Mort could answer, Jess slithered back down the bank. The sheriff noted automatically that, despite his soaking wet pants, he was wearing his gun-belt. He decided it would be as well to lighten the atmosphere a little.

"Shame on you, boys! Letting an old man like me sneak up on you!"

It had the opposite effect. Jess's chin went up and his eyes narrowed. " You arrived less than ten minutes ago, just when that last bank of cloud went over. Traveller'd let me know if y'd been a stranger, but I guess Alamo knows y', so Trav reckoned you were ok."

"Really?" Mort sounded just a little sceptical, even though he had seen the horse's vigilance.

"Try sneakin' up on us when Alamo ain't there and y'll find out!" Jess warned him.

"Coffee?" Slim suggested diplomatically. He had already worked out that this was usually the best way to get Jess into a more relaxed mood.

"Thanks." Mort figured nothing much would soften the news he brought, but every little helped.

When they were all comfortably full of food and coffee - Jonesy having soon worked out that you needed to provide plenty extra when you were feeding Jess - they sprawled in the deep shade of the over-hanging trees. Jess rolled and lit a cigarette. Slim returned to his original question: "Ok, Mort, you got your picnic! I don't believe the saloon's run out of food yet. Now tell us what really brought you out here?"

Mort made no direct answer, just fished the poster out of his pocket. "I wanted you both to see this." He did not add _before someone else does._

"Together!" It was less of a question than a statement from Slim. He did not look at the paper, but got up and moved over to join Jess, who had also risen to his feet.

Mort found that, for some unaccountable reason, he was holding his breath.

The two young men looked down at the Wanted poster together.

Jess's expression did not change, but, as Slim looked down at his impassive face, he found that he was remembering the first day they had ridden back to the relay station together. He remembered Jess's expression when Andy had come bounding out of the house, proclaiming joyfully: "It's Slim and Jess is with him!"

Now he simply said: "If trouble comes, I'm with you all the way. This makes no difference."

Jess's eyes widened and he became utterly still for a moment. Then he ducked his head as if to conceal his emotions. When he looked up again, he met Slim's eyes with a heart-wrenching, crooked half-smile. "Good to know!" He sounded even huskier than usual. He thought for a moment, before he went on: "You can take care of yourself, but there's Jonesy and Andy -" His voice faltered for a moment at the thought of harm coming to Andy. "It ain't fair to risk them!"

Slim thought of the way Jess had taken off to help him at Baxter's Ridge without letting Andy get involved. "I trust you to take care of them," he told him firmly. "Where would they find better protection?"

Jess smiled that half-smile again. But he was shrewd and experienced. "Ain't no tellin' who'll come after this," he pointed out, as he flicked a finger against the poster.

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Mort assured him firmly. His own wide experience told him that here was a youngster who had been let down, put down and sometimes done down more than was needful in his short life. He had felt how much the word 'trust' from Slim had meant to Jess. He went on: "The only reason I brought this out to show the pair of you is that I want to be able to stop any locals getting stupid ideas and their heads blown off!"

Slim looked at him in surprise. Mort did not know Jess and, although he was an excellent judge of character, he must also be relying on Slim's greater acquaintance and his opinion.

Jess laughed. "I'll try t' avoid addin' to y' cemetery, Sheriff! This may help." He turned and stooped to pick up his vest, reaching into the pocket to extract his wallet. "Good job it didn't go into the water! But I guess I'll be needin' t' get another copy soon!" He handed Mort a battered and much folded piece of paper.

Mort scanned it swiftly. It was a court declaration, exonerating Jess from any crime and acknowledging that the Wanted poster had been issued in error. He heaved a sigh of relief. He felt a father's responsibility towards Slim and was mightily glad this latest threat to the security of the relay station and its family appeared to have been averted.

He got to his feet and strolled over to unhitch his horse. "I'll see if I can get you a new copy, Jess. Meanwhile, boys, do me a favour and stay out of trouble, will you!"


	2. Chapter 2

**AS THE SPARKS FLY**

Jantallian

 **Part Two – Fire without Smoke**

 **1**

When trouble came, it had absolutely nothing to do with Jess - at least, not for the first three minutes. It took exactly none of those minutes for Jess to decide he was going to back Slim up. That – for reasons he did not trouble to analyse - went without saying. The next two minutes were taken watching to see if Slim needed the proposed back-up. After all, it was his fight.

Sheriff Cory would have warned them, but only if they'd dropped by his office first. Freddie would have warned them because the damage and loss of custom would be his, but the saloon was heaving and he and the girls were run off their feet. Slim's neighbours didn't think to warn him because they knew him to be a reasonable young man and probably figured the pair of them were old enough to work things out for themselves. This was true, but did not cause Slim to hesitate for an instant.

Slim Sherman was, as he had shown on numerous occasions, fair dealing personified. Just because a girl worked in a saloon, he saw no reason why she should not be treated with reasonable courtesy. Jess Harper, without any discussion on the matter, agreed with him wholeheartedly, although for Jess it was more an inherent dislike of seeing anyone pushed around just because they looked an easy target. No amount of warnings would have made a jot of difference to their combined reaction to the behaviour of the bunch of newcomers to town. It was one of those utterly predictable confrontations, in which even the preliminary exchange of opinions seemed to be following a script, a dialogue designed for trouble.

There were five men in all. Two of them were heavily involved in the poker school and the other three were drinking steadily, with the casual determination of hardened drinkers. This meant frequent calls on Katie, the girl unfortunate enough to be waiting their table. Freddie was keeping half an eye on her, because he didn't allow good staff to be harassed or, worse, roughed up, but he was hampered by the sheer press of thirsty townsfolk at the bar. It was the end of a long, exceptionally hot day. Maybe that contributed to everyone's short tempers.

Slim and Jess had only stopped off in the saloon to slake their thirst after a dusty journey delivering some steers to the railhead. Once there, however, it took more than one beer. Slim got involved in a complicated discussion on the market for young stock with another rancher. Jess was called over to join some of the stage guards, who were relishing a night of freedom and relaxation; they were soon swapping tall tales with gusto and much hilarity. Talking made you dry and led to another beer - or rather, several.

Slim was leaning on the bar with his neighbour. Jess, at a table nearby, was glancing at him from time to time, waiting for a signal to depart and head for the relay station. He was quite happy to sit and yarn and drink all night, but he had a feeling Slim preferred the blameless slumber of his own bed - and that was twelve miles away. From where he was standing, Slim had good view of everything which was going on and he couldn't help noticing Katie's increasing tension and her uncharacteristic frown.

"No smile tonight? What's up, Katie?" he asked gently, as she deposited another tray of empties on the bar.

The girl give him a grateful look. They all liked Slim because he was honest and trustworthy as well as polite, a combination unusual in their working life. If the unruly good-looks of his latest ranch-hand had caused some distinct interest, Slim remained a firm favourite. She was touched by his concern now, but just made the obvious reply: "It's busy tonight and I'm a bit tired."

A raucous yell from the three strangers reminded her of her duty and she picked up yet another tray of full beer glasses. She had scarcely made it to the table when one of the men grabbed her by the wrist and twisted it hard, making her gasp with pain.

Slim was already on his feet when the man let go of Katie abruptly, causing the tray in her other hand to dip. Beer splashed down onto the shoulder of one of the men sitting with him. He snarled with rage and, half rising from his chair, hit the girl with casual violence. "You stupid slut! You're clumsy as well as slow."

The blow sent the tray flying and the girl crashing to the floor at Slim's feet. He swiftly helped her up and set her behind him. The man in question suddenly found himself confronting six foot three of hard-muscled and extremely angry cowboy.

"You want to pick on someone your own size?"

"Simmer down, boy! You don't own her!"

"No! You stand up and you'll find no-one owns the girls in this saloon!" Slim seized the man by his vest and hauled him out of his seat.

Everyone settled back to watch a good scrap – everyone except Freddie, who was wishing the saloon was not packed to such an extent that he had no chance of moving any of the tables out of the way. Slim did not often get into fights, but when he did, he was a force of destruction to be reckoned with. This force was about to be increased by a factor of one Harper's-worth.

Jess watched with interest for the first two minutes. Slim could more than hold his own and was perfectly capable of giving the stranger the beating he undoubtedly deserved. It was the third minute which made Jess decide that admiring observation was no longer an option.

In the third minute the stranger's two friends joined in, clearly feeling Slim should be the one beaten to pulp instead. Even against three of them, Slim was making pretty good headway, but the underhand attempt of one of them to break a chair over his head was excuse enough for Jess to give in to his habitual enjoyment of a lively fight.

The man wielding the chair suddenly felt a dead-weight holding it down. The next moment, he found it twisted and wrenched out of his hands. The last thing he heard as it broke over his own head was: "If y' wanna hit the big man, wait y' turn!"

Jess looked across the fallen man and raised an eyebrow at Slim: "I take it this ain't a private fight?"

Slim dodged wild swing from one opponent and thumped the other soundly. "Be my guest." A fist glanced along his jaw and he paused to send the man reeling before adding: "Unless you'd rather finish your drink?"

Jess caught the staggering opponent and delivered a couple of sharp jabs. "My pleasure. I'm right alongside y' when trouble comes!"

He also had eyes in the back of his head. The other two strangers had stopped playing poker to view the outcome of the fight. When it became obvious that their friends were not winning, one decided to add lead to the fracas.

This was a mistake. Jess stopped punching, kicked his opponent's feet from under him and, in the same smooth and scarily swift movement, drew and blasted the gambler's gun out of his hand.

"Stay right where y' are and keep y' hands clear!" he advised coldly. "Ain't no call t' turn this into a shootin' match!"

Freddie had his hand on the shotgun under the bar counter, but Jess had backed up against the wall and was keeping everyone in the saloon covered while Slim made short work of finishing off his two opponents.

In the street outside, Mort Cory stifled a groan when he heard the gun-shot. He had been hoping for a quiet night. Still, it wasn't Saturday and it didn't sound like a full scale gunfight. Probably just as well, given the crowd in the saloon, which equalled any on a Saturday night. He pushed through the doors, his hand close to his own gun, ready for action. In one swift, experienced glance he took in the whole situation: Jess Harper holding everyone covered with that efficient gun of his and Slim Sherman finishing off two opponents who he presumably thought deserved a beating. Mort was inclined to agree with him, especially when he took in who they were, their unconscious comrade sprawled underfoot and the other two men in Jess's sights, one of whom was clutching an obviously stinging hand. He was lucky Jess was a sufficiently good shot to hit the gun and not his hand, Mort reflected. But it didn't make the whole situation any more acceptable.

"Alright! That's enough! Put your weapons away," he snapped. It had been a long day and he wanted a quiet night. He seemed to recall asking Slim and Jess to stay out of trouble and he wished he'd drummed the instruction in more thoroughly at the time. No doubt, if Slim was involved, there would be a perfectly valid reason for the fight. And no doubt Jess was just being a loyal employee and backing him up. Mort looked again at the young gunman and decided that this was being generous: Jess had almost certainly joined in because he relished a good scrap. His eyes were positively gleaming under the brim of his hat, but, after an appreciable pause and a hard look at his opponents, he did holster his gun.

The man whose weapon had been removed from his hand retrieved it from the floor and examined it carefully. It was not going to be quite as accurate as it had been before. "You again, Harper! Now you owe me twice!" he snarled at Jess.

Jess shrugged and said coolly, "I'll pay y' what y're due when y' prepared to face me in the street instead of tryin' to shoot a man in the back!"

"Why you little -!"

The man lunged forward and came slap up against Mort's restraining hand. This was just as well, since it prevented him coming within Jess's reach as the Texan's incandescent fury erupted. It was the first time any of them witnessed Jess's reaction to being called 'little'. It was a good job that Slim grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms to his sides in a powerful clasp, since Mort had only one hand free and it would certainly not be enough to stop an enraged Harper. As it was, Slim had quite a struggle to restrain him.

"Calm down!" he pleaded, trying to keep his own tone reasonable. "You aren't improving the situation."

Jess shrugged him off with surprising ease, snarling: "I'll improve his face for him!" He might easily have carried out this threat had he not caught the look in Mort's eye in time and recognised that now was not the time to push his luck any further. The Sheriff swung the other man in the direction of the door and gave him a good push. "If you gentlemen have got beds to go to, I suggest you get under the blankets right now!"

His sarcasm was not without effect, as all five left the saloon with scowls plastered across their unpleasant features. As they did so, Mort issued a further piece of advice: "If you've finished your business in Laramie, I suggest you move on tomorrow, early." It was a suggestion he was later to regret.

Then he turned to the two younger men. He sighed inwardly. He had no doubt that they were probably in the right, as far as the cause of the fight was concerned, but it did not, in his book, count as staying out of trouble. "You two as well!" he told them shortly. "You've got twelve miles to cool your tempers, so get going."

"Lemme give 'em a drink for the road, Mort," Freddie appealed. "Those roughnecks were givin' Katie a hard time."

 _So that was it!_ "No," Mort said shortly. "I see no reason to encourage them. On the road, the pair of you." He was aware of Slim still standing close behind Jess, both of them vibrating with unspent energy and a fair amount of residual belligerence. It was a formidable sight and he didn't want to get into an argument with them under the circumstances.

"Sheriff, there's something y' need to know –" Jess began to protest.

"Nothing that won't keep," Mort told him shortly.

"But y' gotta –" Jess certainly didn't know when to back down.

"I've got my night-check to finish," Mort said wearily, "and I'm rapidly running out of time and patience."

"But you want-!"

"D'you want to spend the night cooling your hot head in a cell?"

Slim's hand touched Jess's shoulder and Mort saw the younger man ease off just a fraction. "Come on. Mort doesn't say anything unless he means it." Slim tightened his grip and steered his accomplice towards the door.

Mort followed them and saw them mount up. Jess leaned down from the saddle and had one last try: "You should let me –"

"Go!" Mort's command was so explosive that both horses jumped and so did their owners. He watched until one truculent and one solidly calm figure disappeared round the bend towards Cheyenne. After which he gave a heartfelt groan of relief and set about making sure that the rest of the town was safe and secure.


	3. Chapter 3

**AS THE SPARKS FLY**

Jantallian

 **Part Two – Fire without Smoke**

 **2**

The posse arrived at the relay station in the course of the next morning.

To give him his due, Jess did not say ' _I told you so!_ ', although this was probably because Slim had threatened him with dire retribution if he did. They had discussed Jess's recognition of Ryan and Ethan O'Rourke, the leaders of a potentially dangerous gang, on the way home, but decided it would be wisest not to try to confront Mort with the information again that night. In fact, Jess was just saddling Traveller to ride back into Laramie and face the Sheriff with this unwelcome news, when Mort himself rode into the yard at the head of a posse of ten men, his expression set in a stern and determined frown.

"Saddle up!" he ordered them briefly. "You seem to want to pick a fight with the O'Rourke boys, so you can come along and do it under my orders."

Slim and Jess exchanged glances. They fetched their rifles and mounted up in meek silence. Mort was not deceived.

"Yes, I'm an old fool and I should have listened to you last night," he told them wryly. "But just remember I have no authority to arrest people for being unpleasant."

Slim gave Jess a surreptitious kick to shut him up, just in case, and enquired politely, "Something happened to change your mind, Mort?"

"Armed robbery in Cheyenne and a stage held up on the outgoing run to Denver," Mort told them. "Marshall's Office telegraphed a warrant for that. Now let's ride!"

They headed back down the road to Laramie, then out on the track to Baxter's Ridge. It seemed to be a favourite route for outlaws. The trail of five horses was clear enough. The gang were making fair speed and since they had quit town early that morning, Mort was not sanguine about catching up with them, but he had to try. At least when they left, the wanted men showed no particular sign of hurry or awareness that they might be pursued. This was in accord with the way they had sat confidently all night in a crowded saloon and got themselves noticed in a public fight. If they were guilty, Mort wondered why they were so sure of themselves and how they hoped to get away with their crimes.

At the back of the posse, very much the same thoughts were running through Jess's mind. He had gradually fallen behind the rest of the riders, allowing Slim to take the lead alongside the Sheriff and the deputy who was reading the trail. This, he considered, was only right: Slim knew both the land and the men he was working with. Jess had absolute confidence that he would use this to ensure the success of the posse. For himself, he did not reckon it was his place to tell an experienced sheriff and deputy how to do their job. All the same, Jess knew something about the way the O'Rourkes usually operated and he had his own skills to apply quietly and unobtrusively in support of the pursuit.

From Baxter's Ridge the trail led further west into the mountains. It was a safe bet that the outlaws had a well-hidden camp somewhere in the maze of gullies, valleys, canyons, blind alleys and intersecting ridges. The only thing to do was to follow their tracks slowly, painstakingly, tirelessly.

The sun rose up to noon and the trail was still clear, still leading west – five horses, close-ridden, but not travelling particularly hard. The terrain was getting less and less easy as they wound their way down a long, boulder-strewn defile and into an equally rugged canyon whose sides sloped steeply upwards in a series of narrow ledges. There was still the remains of a winter river running beside the trail. Surprisingly, as they made their way cautiously along – it was an ideal place for an ambush – they found the cliffs opening out and suddenly there was the wide bowl of a hollow with a pool formed by the stream and a large tree overhanging it.

Mort raised his hand and the posse halted while the deputy who was tracking made his way carefully down to the pool. After a few minutes, he returned. "They stopped here and watered the horses."

"We'll do the same," Mort decided. "Take ten minutes and get some shade."

Jess led Traveller over to the tracker. "Still five of them?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah." The man looked at him curiously. "What d'you expect? Five men, five horses!"

"Five ridden horses?" It sounded as if Jess thought he was imagining things.

"Yeah! What else?" The man shrugged and turned away in disgust, but Jess hadn't finished.

"The same horses?"

" 'Course it's the same horses!" The man was getting irritated.

"One of them with a cracked shoe on the off-fore?"

"So you can see the obvious!" the man snorted. He was glaring at Jess, who looked completely unperturbed. But he did stop asking questions and made his way over to join Slim. Alamo and Traveller greeted each other with pleasure. Slim raised an eyebrow and said, "You worrying Joe?"

"Just askin'." Jess was surveying the canyon wall to the north. "You know this part of the country well?"

"Pretty well," Slim admitted, and because instinct told him Jess had his own expertise, he asked: "You've got something in mind?"

"A big valley. Just to the north. Over that ridge."

Slim considered for a moment. "Yeah, you're right." He regarded Jess thoughtfully, but the Texan made no further reference to the terrain. Instead he just said quietly, "I don't think we've much further to go." The remark was overheard by the deputy, who guffawed loudly and made it clear to the rest of the posse what he thought of this idea. Mort, however, like Slim, gave Jess his full attention for several moments before signalling that they should mount up and move off again. As they did so, he pulled alongside Jess and asked the same question, "What's on your mind? You think we're riding into an ambush?"

Jess shook his head and grinned. "No. Just ridin' to the end o' the trail. And it ain't gonna help us much."

He was right.

They had scarcely gone half a mile further along the canyon when the tracker held his hand up. The posse halted. The man was staring in disbelief at the hoofmarks ahead.

"What's up?" Mort asked, riding up to him.

The man pointed at the deeply indented and widely spaced marks. "All of a sudden, they break into a gallop. What the hell for?"

"Something stampeded them." The statement came from Jess.

"You mad? A rattler might set off one horse, but the whole bunch? What were the riders doing?"

Jess grinned. "Walkin'!"

"Walking?" There were several voices raised in disbelief. "Out here? What would a man do walking?"

Jess just shrugged. He didn't seem to care one way or the other what anyone thought of his interpretation of the tracks. Slim kept silent, waiting to see what the outcome would be, but ready to leap to Jess's defence if need be. So far, though, the others were merely prepared to dismiss his comments. But not long after the evidence of the horses stampeding, the canyon began to open out into a wide-bottomed valley. The tracker held up his hand: "I don't believe it! Will y' look at that!"

They all halted. Away down the valley a little group of horses was grazing placidly.

"I don't believe it!" the man muttered again. "We've been followin' a bunch of loose horses."

"Not exactly," a voice murmured behind him.

The tracker turned and glared at Jess again. "Are you blind or something?" He slid from his saddle and examined the tracks once more. "They ain't even the right horses!"

"Oh, they're the right horses," Jess assured him calmly. "But they don't matter."

"They've led us the devil of a dance," Mort pointed out. "Can't say it's no matter."

"Yeah, that was the intention," Jess told him. "Y'see, if y're trackin' men, y' need to keep your attention on them, not on the horses."

"What the hell are you talkin' about!" the tracker exploded. "Some of us are thinkin' you know far too much about this and we know far too little about you! You've got some expl-" He stopped abruptly and his eyes widened. Jess didn't need to look round to know that Slim was standing at his shoulder, calmly making his support absolutely clear.

Mort regarded them both for a moment. He had a feeling this was a sight with which he would become very familiar. All he said was, "Alright, Jess. Tell us what's really going on."

Jess looked away down the valley and up at the peaks surrounding it. Then he said: "Come dusk, a kid'll come down from wherever he's hidin' and collect the horses."

"What kid? Where?" several voices demanded.

"He's there, believe me. The O'Rourkes' little brother. He looks after the second string and makes camp for them."

Mort scowled. "I'll put a couple of men in cover here. They can wait until he shows, arrest him and bring the string in."

"Can't do that, Sheriff," Jess advised him quietly.

Mort glared at him, but thought it through. "He's no connection with the gang except the horses."

"Yeah. And we've no proof they're the same horses. He'll have the right papers so's they legally belong to him and a good story about how he got the one with the split shoe."

"That horse ain't there!" the tracker objected. "You can see from the marks."

"He's there alright," Jess asserted. "They just plugged the split somehow, maybe even a little plate which clips over the gap in the shoe – I never did find out exactly what. But they intend us to think, because that horse ain't showin' on the trail, they're not the horses we've been followin'. At a distance, we might even take them for a bunch o' wild mustangs."

"So where are the riders?" Mort demanded, irritated at being fooled, despite the help Jess was giving them.

Jess hopped back up on to Traveller. "I'll show y' when we get back to that tree."

When they approached the tree, Jess motioned them to take a wide birth round the tracks of the horses. He slid off Traveller and pointed to the in-coming trail.

"Y've got five horses here, all of them mounted – y' can tell by the depth of the marks. They halt under the tree and then, if y' look at the space between the tree and the cliff, there's a hell of a lot of milling about goin' on. Ask y'self why. Horses are tired and there ain't no reason to get them all stirred up."

He turned to the tree and ran hand lightly along the lowest branch. "Here's where they stowed the saddles." They could all see the scuff-marks on the branches now. "Couldn't afford to put them on the ground in case we noticed the markings. The five men cross over to the cliff and the horses are used to mess up their prints. Then the kid rides on, leadin' the other four horses. If y' look at the tracks, y' can see no-one rides that close to the lead horse. There are two sets of prints, even, on either side. Ridden horses would be keepin' their space, so these four were bein' led by the kid. A bit further on, he takes off the bridles and spooks them so they stampede into the valley and end up lookin' just like a bunch of innocent wild horses."

He walked over to the cliff and climbed up the first few ledges, obviously looking for boot-marks. "They were carryin' the saddles, so they'd need an easy way up." It made sense. Saddles were expensive and a man would not readily abandon his, even when pursued. Given their scheme for escape, it was obvious the horses could not be left with any harness on. Jess continued: "If you follow the easiest route, you'll find their camp on the other side of this ridge. That's where they'll have picked up their second string. There's most likely a river or stream nearby. They'll have used it to hide which way they went when they moved off again."

Jess jumped down again and Mort, who had been thinking hard, issued his orders: "Stan and William, go back quietly to where we saw the horses. If Jess is right and the kid does show, bring him back to Laramie, politely if you can, but bring him! There are some questions he can help us with. Joe, get up there and see what you can find."

"Sure you don't wanna send Mr. Expert instead?" Joe sneered.

Jess shook his head at Mort. He hadn't intended to show Joe up, simply to get the posse back on the right trail, although he doubted if there was any chance of catching up with the gang now. "I don't need proof of what I can see written here."

Mort nodded in acceptance. "Any good climbers amongst the rest of you willing to go with Joe?"

A couple of men volunteered although, in the heat of the day, no one was very keen. Slim caught Jess's eye. A look flashed between them in which his unspoken question was answered just as silently: he knew Jess trusted him to bring back the truth of what they found in the next valley. He handed Alamo's reins to Jess and told Mort: "I'll take the climb too."

 **3**

 _Riding boots_ , Slim reflected as he slowly ascended the cliff-face, _were never meant for climbing!_ It was not a difficult climb, but he was glad he was not carrying a cumbersome saddle. All the same, as the sun beat down on his back and the gritty dust stirred up by the men above him was kicked back in his face, he did also wonder exactly what he was doing and why. He had no doubts that Joe and the other men would turn in an accurate report to Mort; he had known them all for years and although the tracker was sniping at Jess, Slim had to admit he had had some provocation.

 _No! That was the wrong word. Jess had done his best not to be provocative!_ Slim was sure of it. _It wasn't like the way he'd challenged the man whose gun he'd shot out of his hand. No, Jess had done his best to be as unobtrusive as possible for most of the ride. When he did use his skills, it was quietly, professionally, without seeking to score over anyone._ _He was just completely certain what the tracks told him._

So why was Slim climbing up a cliff in the middle of a hot afternoon when he could have been peacefully sitting in the shade? _Because Jess needed him to_. Slim might trust the men Mort had sent, but he understood without being told that Jess had no such confidence in them. He doubted very much whether Jess trusted anyone easily, which, given his innate self-sufficiency, not to mention years on the drift, was scarcely surprising. In the present situation, it seemed Jess was prepared to trust Slim enough to place his own reputation in the hands of a boss who was still a comparative stranger to him. Slim frowned. Somehow Jess didn't feel like a stranger, even though they knew so little about him and what they had discovered, like the Wanted poster, was not always comfortable. On the contrary, he backed Jess up almost automatically - and so far Jess had done the same for him. It went way beyond just the responsibility for an employee. Sometimes Slim felt exactly as if he was dealing with another kid brother and he'd more than once found himself curbing Jess's more volatile reactions, even to the extent of actually kicking him that very morning!

 _Perhaps Andy was the catalyst for this swift development of both trust and communication? Certainly, after finishing their original fight the other day, something seemed easier, better understood between the two of them._ Slim grinned to himself as he remembered Jess's sneaky tactics and their painful descent into the stream. But in his heart, he knew it was not just Andy. In fact his brother served to point up the very real differences between them, both in temperament and background. Slim guessed they would probably go on fighting over things about which they thought so differently, but at the same time he was somehow absolutely sure that down at the bedrock of life, they shared the same principles. What on earth made him so sure of this, he could not have said. He hadn't liked or trusted Jess the first time they met – nor at their second encounter! He'd been mad enough to want to beat the tar out of the cocky young drifter who seemed hell-bent on turning Slim's world upside down and encouraging Andy into the very actions which made his elder brother so protective.

 _When had the antagonism changed into something different? Become an understanding in the light of which they could and would throw punches at each other without lasting damage … damage … That was it!_ Slim remembered the look in Jess's eyes as Carlin had goaded him into hitting Slim. A look which said so clearly he was only doing it because he had no option. Not that Jess would have minded if their fight had continued there and then; Slim was pretty sure he'd enjoyed the eventual continuation enormously. But, in the moment when they locked eyes as Carlin's sidekick held Slim immobile, it was clear that, if Jess was going to give Slim a beating, it was going to be on equal terms and for his own reasons. _And no doubt he would, from time to time, administer sundry more beatings, but –_ Slim grinned to himself – _Jess was going to be on the receiving end of just as many!_

The end of the climb came abruptly and Slim was hauled back from his personal thoughts to review the situation in the next valley. They scrambled down a long, narrow gully and, at the end, between two bluffs, found evidence of a camp-fire and several horses having been picketed. Joe gave a snort of annoyance, but dutifully traced the hoof-prints until they disappeared, as Jess had predicted, on the bank of a broad, shallow stream. There was no way they could do anything more on foot. They trekked gloomily back to where the posse was waiting for them.

"Well?" Mort demanded impatiently.

Joe glared at him and at the stranger who had been proved right. "Just like he said – camp-fire, more horses, a river. And no sign of them apart from cold ash, horse droppings and some hoof-marks!"

Slim had moved unobtrusively to stand close at Jess's shoulder. Ostensibly he was simply taking charge of Alamo again, but Mort noted the pair of them out of the corner of his eye and thought again how quietly formidable they looked together.

Before he had time to respond to this information, Joe went on: "Some of us'd like to know how Harper knows so much about the O'Rourkes. An' if he ain't part of the gang, ridin' along today just to make sure we go wrong, then he's got some explainin' to do!"

Mort said nothing, just quirked an eyebrow in Jess's direction. For a moment it looked and felt as if the young Texan was going to refuse to answer the challenge, stubbornly preferring his own pride to the good opinion of others. He stood alert and poised, ready to respond physically, but made no move. Slim's close presence seemed to keep him in check and maybe he was remembering that Mort had promised to help him get a new letter proving his innocence in the matter of the Wanted poster. His answer was, nonetheless, terse in the extreme.

"Trailed 'em before. Same tricks now."

"Posse?" Mort asked.

"No." Again it sounded as if Jess was not going to amplify this, but then he added: "Personal."

"How personal?" Joe snarled at him. "Like you were personally part of the gang?"

Jess regarded him impassively, his cool blue gaze raking the man from head to toe as if deciding which part to hit first. His every muscle and sinew were braced for action and radiating controlled power. Slim willed him to speak out and make things clear. He was sure Jess was blameless, only the younger man evidently didn't see the need to prove it to anyone. But, as if he felt Slim's silent urging, eventually he said: "They had something of mine I wanted back."

"Money?" Even as he spoke, Mort knew this was the wrong answer and totally uncharacteristic of Jess.

"A friend." The tension riveting Jess to the spot did not change, but Slim thought that he turned his head very slightly as if seeking, out of the corner of his eye, a glimpse of the one he had trusted.

"Fair enough," Mort gave his verdict firmly and dismissed Joe's objections with a shake of his head. "How long will it take to get round to the northern valley?" He looked at Slim in inquiry.

"Two hours at least," Slim told him promptly.

"And they already have at least two hours lead," Mort continued. "Even if we split into two groups and go up and down stream, the chances of catching them are practically non-existent. We'd better head back to town and hope this kid is more help, when they bring him in."

Jess hitched a shoulder as if he was going to move and say something else, but instead he became still again. Slim was watching him closely, but there was no clue about what he might have contributed. It wasn't until they had mounted up that he ventured to ask in an undertone: "What's on your mind now?"

Jess gave him a long look and said equally quietly, "You've got a kid brother. How would you feel if was Andy?"

There didn't seem to be an answer which did not include pointing out that neither Slim nor Andy would end up fleeing from a posse. But Slim took the implication and after a while said simply: "I'd mind him being arrested."

"Ain't bein' arrested," Jess reminded him. "But I doubt Ryan O'Rourke will see it that way and he feels just like you do about his kid brother." He paused before adding: "Only he ain't nearly as open to reason!"

And with that gloomy thought, they spurred their horses after the posse and made the best speed they could for the relay station.


	4. Chapter 4

**AS THE SPARKS FLY**

Jantallian

 **Part Two – Fire without Smoke**

 **4**

"Is it absolutely necessary to stop at this relay station, driver?"

The unmistakable voice of Mrs Mulholland rang out of the depths of the stage-coach from Cheyenne, which had just whirled to a spectacular halt in the yard. _Must be a pretty young lady on board, as well as the old harridan!_ was the thought of all those who could read the signs.

"You can perfectly well continue. We only have another twelve miles to Laramie," the harridan continued in the tones of one who is accustomed to being obeyed. After which she added for good measure, "I am most anxious to meet my husband when he closes the bank this afternoon."

In the doorway of the barn, Slim gave an audible groan. He'd had to be extremely firm with Jess on the matter of it being part of his job to take his turn in greeting the passengers, a task for which he had shown a marked reluctance. This was not just because it involved Jess looking reasonably tidy for once. Granted it meant finding a shirt without a rip and which actually looked as if it had some acquaintance with an iron and a pair of pants that were not so worn you wondered how the stitching held the seams together. In addition, Jonesy had applied the scissors to his unwilling head and, taking his life in his hands, suggested a morning shave would not go amiss. No, it was not just a matter of staying clean and tidy for most of the day when dust and grime seemed to have an irresistible attraction to whatever Jess was wearing. It was more serious than this. Right from the start, Jess had showed considerable wariness about arrivals at the relay station and clearly preferred changing the teams to dealing with the passengers, as if every stage might be bringing him unforeseen trouble.

Now trouble was on the other side of the coach door, in the form of one of the few females in Laramie who had not succumbed in no uncertain fashion to Jess's wayward charm. Slim held his breath, praying for something – he was not quite sure what. _Maybe Mose would be seized by an urge to get the wretched woman to her unfortunate spouse on time. Maybe the heavens would open and a deluge prevent anyone from alighting. Maybe the tired team would take it into their heads to bolt on down the road. Or maybe Jess would just show the impeccable Southern manners which were his heritage, if not his usual practice?_

Mose, of course, did not fulfil his first wish. "Company regulations, ma'am. Horses must be changed if we're to keep to time." He didn't add that he was not going to budge an inch further without at least one cup of coffee and preferably a slice of the cake whose scent was wafting from the open kitchen window.

Nature did not oblige either. The day remained obstinately pleasant, the sun continued to shine and scarcely a cloud drifted along on the light breeze. As for the horses, they were hanging their heads wearily, with nothing more in their minds than ambling quietly into the barn for a good drink and a feed.

If Mrs Mulholland had prayers of her own, they were not answered either, despite her being a pillar of the local church. She was hot, tired, uncomfortable and dusty, not to mention irritably regretting the vexatious necessity of travelling to Cheyenne in order to escort her young niece, who was to spend some time with the family in Laramie. But she also recognised a situation which even her powers could not change. "Very well. Tell Mr Sherman to be quick about it! I shall remain where I am."

Seated next to her, Lucy Mulholland concealed a frown at this obstinacy. She could not see why her aunt objected to this particular stop and had every intention of stretching her legs, enjoying some refreshment and, if there was any possibility of clean water, a chance to cool her complexion before she alighted at her destination. This resolution was considerably reinforced when she looked out of the window and saw the young man who was approaching the coach. She remembered Slim Sherman from her previous visits to Laramie and was not averse to meeting him again, but this was definitely someone different. Evidently he had employed a new hand. Lucy was not at all averse to meeting him either!

He opened the door and pulled down the step, then stood back politely, waiting to see who would alight first. "It's cool inside, ladies, and Jonesy's made some fresh lemonade. Oh, and that's apple and cinnamon bread you can smell too."

"How delightful!" Lucy bend to step through the doorway and he took her hand to assist her from the coach.

"Lucy, I forbid it!" her aunt's angry voice admonished her. "You will go nowhere with that man!"

Lucy was eighteen and had every intention of acting like an adult, even if her aunt did think she was a little girl. She looked the young man up and down and couldn't for the life of her see what her aunt was objecting to. Although not smartly dressed, he was clean and workmanlike and undeniably good-looking, so the fact that he showed no signs of untoward behaviour was rather to her disappointment. He did, however, raise one eyebrow at the order she had been given and she would have sworn there was a gleam of mischief, if not battle, in those bright blue eyes.

"Please come inside, Miss Mulholland. You have plenty of time to relax a little."

He offered her his arm and, when Lucy took it, led her into the shadowy cool of the little ranch house. To her disappointment, however, he went straight back outside once he had seen her seated at the table with the driver and she had to console herself with the excellent lemonade and cake.

Mrs Mulholland continued to sit in solitary splendour, her hands folded on the handle of the parasol she had just brandished at their retreating backs. She sat determinedly ignoring the rising temperature of the stuffy stage-coach. To her annoyance not only had Lucy gone with that reprobate without a backward glance, but the next thing she knew, he was once again at the open door of the coach.

"Best you come inside too, ma'am. It's gonna be awful hot out here soon."

Mrs Mulholland stiffened, pressing herself back into the seat and resisting as unladylike the urge to drive him off with her parasol. "I am indifferent to the temperature!" she snapped, hoping that her face was not beginning to turn red.

"Sure y' are, ma'am. But it wouldn't do for you to faint in the heat." His expression was perfectly serious and polite.

"I am made of tougher stuff than you imagine, young man!"

"Sure y' are, ma'am. But the company expects me to look after their passengers, it's all part of the service."

"Ha!" Mrs Mulholland did not deign to respond to this.

Jess continued to look at her thoughtfully, then he went on: "Besides, my ma would give me a leatherin' if I let a lady put herself in danger. I'll stay here and make sure you're alright."

The next thing she knew, he had hopped in through the door and was sitting opposite her, his arms folded and his expression a mixture of patience, concern and determination as inflexible as her own. The stand-off lasted several minutes before Mrs Mulholland decided that the interior of the ranch-house would be preferable to the close confines of the coach if she had to share them with this good-for-nothing, annoyingly courteous, young villain.

"Very well!" She submitted to being assisted in descending the steps, but declined to take his offered arm. Instead she stabbed out every footstep with the sharp end of her parasol as she was firmly escorted inside.

In the shelter of the barn, Slim gulped in a thankful breath and turned to Andy. "Can you start hitching up? I won't be a moment."

"Sure!" Andy was delighted to have the responsibility, but pointed out: "You said you were gonna let Jess handle the passengers today."

"Going to," Slim corrected automatically. He grinned at his brother and added: "I just want to congratulate him on his technique! And make sure he's not getting cut into little pieces inside." The irony of this was to strike him not long after. As it was, he handed over the reins of the horse he was leading to Andy and headed for the kitchen door, confident that it would all go smoothly in his absence. It was an opinion he was shortly going to rue.

Slim made it in the back door just as the unwilling welcomer came through from the living room. Jess was looking quite pale under his tan. He pushed the door shut behind him, slumped back against it and made a strangled noise which was half-laugh, half-groan.

Jonesy silently poured him a glass of the lemonade and, on further thought, fished his medicinal whiskey bottle out of the cupboard and added a good slug.

Jess took several rapid swallows and heaved a big sigh. "Jonesy, I owe y'!"

"I'll put it down t' y' account!" the old man told him dryly. "Along o' all that cinnamon bread y' bin sneakin' when y' think my back is turned!

Slim grinned and clapped Jess on the shoulder. "You're well fortified. Now get back in there and do your duty!"

Jess grinned back. "Yes, boss, Mr. Relay Station, sir!" He ducked as Slim swiped a blow at him and hastily pulled the door open.

They all froze.

Ryan O'Rourke was standing in the middle of the room with a knife across Andy's neck. At the table, Mose and the two women were being held at gun-point by a second member of the gang.

"Where's my brother!" Ryan demanded, giving Andy's hair a savage yank.

Both Slim and Jess started to surge into the room, but a mocking voice behind them ordered: "Stay right where y' are and keep y' hands clear!" It was the other brother, Ethan, who had slipped in through the kitchen door.

Ryan demanded again: "Where's Jamie?"

Slim cleared his throat, which was tight with fear for Andy, and said as calmly as he could: "I don't know."

"You then, Harper! Y' like kids, since y' took such trouble to get Jeremiah Simpson's son back from us. Now you can help find another boy!" At Ryan's demand, Ethan jabbed his gun into Jess's ribs and, as he jumped forward, savagely kicked his feet from under him. But this gave Jess an unexpected advantage, enabling him to roll over swiftly and cannon into Ryan. In the same moment, Slim launched himself into a dive which dragged Andy out of the outlaw's clutches.

Hope leapt in the hearts of the watchers, particularly that of the susceptible young girl. It was Lucy's first experience of being rescued by heroes and the swiftness of their actions amazed her.

Their success was, however, short-lived. Ryan slashed down with the knife, fortunately missing Andy, but ripping a long cut up the length of Jess's arm. Ethan fired a warning shot which hit no-one. It served to summon the rest of the gang in from the yard, where they had been readying the stage. Slim and Jess were quickly over-powered and their arms securely immobilised with their own gun-belts.

"Now!" Ryan grabbed Jess by his injured arm and forced him to his knees. "You were with that posse, Harper! What did they do with my brother?"

"Nothin'," Jess told him sullenly. "Never saw him. Just like last time."

"We never saw him either!" Ethan informed him. "You know why, so either you tell us or this kid is goin' t' get his features rearranged some."

"Yeah, with a knife!" Ryan brandished it threateningly, drawing gasps of horror from the two women and a furious but impotent struggle of protest from Slim.

Jess wasn't about to let Andy be hurt and the information wasn't going to be much use to the O'Rourkes anyway. "Sheriff's men probably escorted him to Laramie for questionin'. An' before y' start tellin' me the law, they knew they couldn't arrest him. You made sure of that, as usual."

"So I did. Now I guess you're gonna make some pay-back, Harper. Since you and your friend Mr Sherman are such pals of the Sheriff, you're gonna get Jamie outta that gaol for us."

"If he's in gaol," Slim pointed out, still keeping his tone calm and reasonable.

"We'll see when we get t' Laramie," Ryan told him. "We're killin' two birds with one stone, now we've managed to lay hands on Mrs Bank Manager. That's gonna make robbin' the bank just like takin' cake from a baby."

It was at this point that everyone realised Jonesy was missing. In the melee he had taken the opportunity to slip back into the kitchen. But his attempt to escape was short-lived, since he ran slap into one of the outlaws coming in through the back door. There was a resounding thump as Jonesy's body hit the floor.

"Have y' got the old fool?" Ryan demanded and gestured to Ethan to have a look.

"Yeah, he's there alright but this idiot must o' hit him hard. He's out cold – maybe dead even."

"Chuck him in the bunk-room," was the callous order. "We don't want any nosy visitors findin' him when we're gone and we ain't draggin' a corpse around with us. The rest of y' get out to that stage!" Ryan issued a few more orders to his followers, sending the other three on ahead to stake out the bank and the Sheriff's Office, while he and his brother followed with their hostages in the coach.

As they were herded out, it occurred to Slim that he had never before known anyone to shut up the garrulous Mose or dumbfound the commanding Mrs Mulholland. Andy too was bravely keeping silent and his chin up, despite the knife. Jess continued mute and sullen except for the odd groan, as if his arm was giving him a great deal of pain; he might have been playing for sympathy from Lucy, who looked desperately worried, but Slim rather thought it was designed to mislead their captors. Slim himself was not keen to make light conversation, but figured if he could get Ryan talking he might give away something of the plan. This was another vain hope, since opening his mouth to ask a question just earned him a heavy cuff across it.

They got into the coach, the two women on one side with Ryan, and Slim, Jess and Andy on the other. Jess continued nursing his injured arm as if it was useless, quite apart from the fact that it was strapped tight by his belt. But in any case, the gang leader was in a perfect position to control all of them easily. Mose took up the reins again, with Ethan riding shotgun next to him.

Ryan grinned unpleasantly at them all as the stage began to move: "Let's rob a bank!"


	5. Chapter 5

**AS THE SPARKS FLY**

Jantallian

 **Part Two – Fire without Smoke**

 **5**

In his office, Mort Cory sat at his desk and regarded the youngest O'Rourke, standing defiantly before him, with resigned patience. "You are not under arrest. You're being held for questioning. And held in a very comfortable hotel room, may I remind you! So if you want to get out of here quickly, you might just as well tell me what they're planning, boy, because they surely haven't turned up in Laramie just for a holiday!"

In the saloon, Freddie double-checked the takings for the week, before sweeping the piles of coins into a cash bag. It would all have to be counted again at the bank anyway. He glanced at the clock. Just time to make it before the bank closed.

In her little workshop, Miss Eli made sure that everything was neatly put away, picked up her handbag and locked the door carefully behind her. Business was looking up and she hoped Mr Mulholland would be able to advise her on the best way to invest her growing profits. The bank should be quieter towards the end of the afternoon.

In the bank, Mr Mulholland supervised the placing of the day's deposits in the big safe and, as was his custom, double-locked the iron grill across the safe room entrance with his own set of keys. Just a few more routine duties and some miscellaneous paperwork to be cleared before he was able to go and greet his wife and niece as they arrived on the stage. Thank goodness business was slackening off towards the end of the day.

In the bunk-room, Jonesy groaned and rubbed the aching lump on the back of his head. At least they'd tossed him on the bed, not on the floor, otherwise he doubted whether his back would have let him get up, let alone get on to one of those hated horses. _Stupid fools!_ he thought: t _hey couldn't tell a corpse from an old man who was faking!_ He walked stiffly out of the house and across to the barn. Not long after, the gentlest of the Sherman horses found itself being urged hell for leather down the road to Laramie.

 **6**

The stage drew up outside the Laramie bank and Ryan O'Rourke glared at his hostages. "You know what y'gotta do. One sound out of any of y' and I'm gonna carve the kid up real good."

Slim gritted his teeth and, glancing down, saw the muscles of Jess's jaw clench at the same time. They were no longer bound and had been ordered to put on their gun-belts normally, although the guns themselves had been emptied of bullets. Besides, Ryan had made it all too clear what would happen if they attempted any kind of action. He had the two women and Andy as hostages and could seriously hurt any one of them, no matter how quick the attack. His rage at losing his own brother focused his attention on Andy and there seemed to be no way of deflecting it. Or was there?

"Yeah, well a kid's about your size, isn't he, O'Rourke?" Jess sneered. "You couldn't face me the other night and y' still runnin' yellow!"

"Shut up, Harper!" Ryan's fist curled, but he knew he could not make any retaliation in the public street. "I'm happy to beat the hell out of you – inside!" It was both a statement and an order.

The three gang members who had been sent on ahead were lounging near the bank.

"D'you find Jamie?" Ryan demanded at once.

The men bunched together, clearly fearing his reaction. "He ain't there, Ryan," one of them reported. "He ain't in any o' the cells, we looked real good!"

A snarl erupted from Ryan's throat, but the bank robbery was going ahead regardless of where his little brother was. He just gestured for the three men to close in and, when Ethan forced the two women to alight, they escorted them inside. Mose was ordered down from the box and tied up inside the stage. Then Ryan gestured for Slim and Jess to get out, hissing: "Don't get any ideas! The boy and I will be right behind you."

Slim glanced down again as he jumped to the ground to join Jess. Jess was staring straight ahead into the bank but Slim guessed that he was weighing up the chances of both of them turning and tackling Ryan while he was coming down the steps. It was too close. Even if they got Andy away from him, the struggle would put the women, and anyone else in the bank, in considerable danger. Just as he came to this conclusion, Jess looked up at him with the merest shake of his head. They would have to wait.

The bank was nearly empty when they got inside and the few late afternoon customers had been lined up against the wall, alongside Mrs Mulholland and Lucy. Jess gave a snarl. The sight of an old lady manhandled in this manner enraged him, the more so since the old lady was Miss Eli. Next to her, Freddie was looking even more gloomy than usual; his predictions of trouble were certainly coming true, with Jess right in the middle, even if he was not at the bottom of it. Lucy was shaking with fright but determined to present a strong façade because, beside her, her aunt, the redoubtable Mrs Mulholland, stood straight and expressionless, although her fingers were white with the strength of her grip on her parasol handle.

Slim and Jess were shoved across to join the other hostages. Their hands were free, but Jess's arm was bleeding and he was favouring it in a way that suggested he would not be able to put up any opposition. Besides, the line was being covered by the three men who had just joined up with the gang. The odds still did not look good.

"Call the manager!" Ryan ordered the petrified clerk behind the counter. "Tell him his wife's here."

The man scuttled away to the office door, closely followed by the outlaw who had knocked out Jonesy. The clerk banged on the door and stuck his head round it. "Mrs Mulholland has arrived, sir. She –" He got no further before the outlaw who had followed him slugged him over the head. It seemed to be a habit of his. Then he grabbed the startled bank manager and dragged him round the counter to confront Ryan.

"The keys, Mulholland!" Ryan snapped. "Or you may find yourself a widower real quick!"

"What keys?" the bank manager replied calmly, showing more nerve than his sedate appearance suggested.

"You know what keys! Open that safe room door!"

"I haven't got the keys," Mulholland replied. "I locked the safe room and gave them to my deputy so that he could open up in the morning."

"You're lyin'!" Ryan grabbed him by the neck, one-handed, and shook him ferociously. His other hand still held the knife to Andy's throat and Slim's heart was in his own, fearing the worst from such violent movement.

"Oh, pick on someone y' own age, O'Rourke!" Jess interrupted, his voice oozing with contempt. "The only people you seem to be able to beat are a couple of old men!" He moved forward from his position against the wall, seeking with reckless insistence to divert attention to himself by provoking and enraging Ryan. Slim tensed, poised to take whatever advantage Jess could gain for them. It was a very slender chance – there were so many vulnerable people in the room and the three gang members could cover them all easily.

"Shut up, Harper!" Ryan let go of Mulholland's throat and swung round, dragging Andy with him. "I told you I'll beat the hell out of you!"

"You gonna do that all by y'r little self, are y'?" Jess enquired sarcastically.

"Hold the boy!" Ryan had had enough and shoved Andy over to his brother.

Before he could do anything else, Jess went bull-headed for him, knocking the knife out of Ryan's hand with his first blow. The supposed damage to his arm did not appear to impede him in the slightest. It became obvious very quickly that Ryan was getting the worst of it and he yelled furiously for his henchmen to pull Jess off him. Even this proved harder than it ought to. It took two men to hold Jess back and the third, the one who liked slugging people, was just about to use his knock-out tactic again when Ryan yelled at him: "Leave him, you fool! I want him to feel this!"

A rain of furious blows brought Jess to his knees, unable to retaliate or defend himself because of the men holding him down. Ryan aimed a hefty kick at his opponent's ribs, which slammed all the breath out of him and left him gasping on the floor.

Ryan grinned with pleasure and drove in another kick for good measure before turning his attention back to Mulholland. He grabbed the bank manager by the arm and twisted it viciously behind his back, at the same time ripping open the inner pocket of his coat, searching for the keys.

It was then that total chaos erupted.

Miss Eli had been a school-mistress in her time and had dealt with plenty of fights between hot-headed pupils. Besides, she was not going to stand for her favourite young man being kicked in the ribs.

Mrs Mulholland didn't much care who kicked Jess Harper, but she did object strongly to the uncivilised behaviour accorded to her husband.

Freddie suddenly felt the weight of the cash bag in his hand.

And Andy recalled a lesson in sneaky Harper fighting techniques: _"Y' ain't as tall as y' brother yet, but y' head's as hard and a skull against the nose is about as painful as it gets!"_

Miss Eli stormed over to Ryan, swung her hand-bag and hit him squarely on the chin. "Leave him alone, you bully!" Mrs Mulholland followed this attack through with the sharp end of her parasol. Freddie swung the cash-bag and let it fly, catching another of the gang on the side of the head. Andy pulled hard against Ethan's grip and flung his head backwards, hitting the man in the face with an almighty crack.

This was the moment that Slim had been waiting for. So had Jess. As Ethan yelled in pain and dropped Andy, they both dived for him. The result was a resounding thump as they banged heads together and landed in a heap on top of the dazed and bleeding man.

Then the doors of the bank burst open and the cavalry arrived, in the shape of Jonesy, Mort and Mose, bringing in their wake enough deputies to disarm and arrest twice as many gang members than were actually available for this privilege.

 **7**

Much later that night, there was a small gathering in the private backroom of the saloon. The Mulhollands and Miss Eli had been congratulated and thanked for their part in stopping the gang, but declined Freddie's invitation to a free meal, much to Lucy's chagrin: when you've been rescued by a couple of eligible young men, you hope at the very least to thank them personally. When the others had taken their departure, Slim, Jonesy, Andy, Jess and Mort settled down to do justice to the barman's generosity. After all, he could afford it. He still had his week's takings.

Since Jonesy didn't drink and there was no way Slim was going to let Andy eat in the main room, their present location was something of a compromise. Nonetheless, Andy was still thrilled to be being treated as an adult for once, although his triumph was somewhat marred by a very sore head. He wished Jess had mentioned this when dishing out fighting advice!

Jess himself was looking rather disgruntled too. For a start, he had been sewn up by the doctor. It was the first time that his unreasonable reaction to all things medical became apparent, but this was not the only thing which was bothering him.

"Come on, spit it out!" Slim urged him with a grin. "What's on your mind now?"

Jess glowered at him and admitted with a groan: "Saved by an old lady, a cash bag and an umbrella! My rep's gonna be ruined!" The words _'in front of an extremely pretty young lady'_ remained unspoken.

"Guess you'll have to reform and settle down respectably then, won't you?" Slim told him in amused tones.

Jess scowled at him. "An' get all domesticated? Y' kiddin'!"

"Talking about settling down," Mort intervened, "I've got to do something with Jamie O'Rourke. The lad saw sense in the end and gave me the information I needed. He hasn't really committed any definite crime so far. What he needs is somewhere and someone to instil some principles into him." He paused in deep thought, as if an idea had just come to him: "I don't suppose, Slim, you'd like to -?"

"Oh no y' don't! You ain't takin' on another parcel o' trouble!" Jonesy jumped in before Slim could reply. "We've got enough on our hands keepin' Jess in line!"

Jess looked at Slim and laughed. "Y' can't say I didn't warn you."

Mort eyed the four of them and remarked casually: "Is he really that much trouble?"

"Jess? Trouble?" Slim's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "The only trouble I've noticed is getting him out of bed in the morning. Every morning! That's enough, isn't it, Jonesy?"

"And keepin' him from eatin' us out of house and home!" Jonesy added. "That's a full time job on its own. Can't say there's much else, is there, Andy?"

Andy looked thoughtfully at his friend. "Yeah, maybe. I do have a bit of trouble with Jess – but only when I ask him for help with spelling."

Jess looked at their three smiling faces and, just for a moment, he ducked his head as if hiding some strong emotion. Only for a moment, before he turned and appealed to Mort with a broad grin: "Arrest me, Sheriff! Lock me up, 'cause, these three are just beggin' for real trouble, sure as the sparks fly upward!"

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Notes:

I guess every writer has a take on those early days – this is one of mine. But I haven't read other people's stories, so any similarities are due to our joint love of the show!

The hymn, _God is our Refuge and our Strength_ , is from the Scottish Psalter, 1650.

Acknowledgement: _For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors._


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